


Blood in the Water

by Ghostwriter98



Series: Pond Protectors [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Courting Rituals, Everyone else is swans (except Frederick), Hannibal is well and truly out of the murder closet, M/M, Nervous Franklyn, Other, Sleep waddling, Swan Hannibal, Swan Will, Will is the new swan on the block, anthropomorphic animals, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostwriter98/pseuds/Ghostwriter98
Summary: Hannibal Lecter, a thirteen-year-old black swan, terrorizes the inhabitants of Baltimore Park. Any creature who dares set a webbed foot in his pond is promptly disposed of viciously and without mercy. When a feisty male swan named Will Graham relocates to the area, Hannibal finally meets his match both intellectually and physically. Unsurprisingly, it isn't long before the waters of the pond run red with blood.





	Blood in the Water

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Legally Blonde musical song “Blood in the Water.”
> 
> I blame this piece on an article I read a while ago about "Hannibal the killer swan." I know black swans are not that common in America so I imagine Hannibal might have been kept in an enclosure and escaped from captivity. Perhaps from a zoo?
> 
> This is not realistic in any way shape or form and really was just written for fun. 
> 
> IMPORTANT - I imagine these swans are very anthropomorphic. I am taking liberties eg giving Hannibal and Will human eye colours, they talk to each other in English (though to humans I imagine it would sound like hisses or honks or whatever other sound swans make). The swans also have many other human mannerisms. 
> 
> Swan stuff that is mentioned:  
> Cob = male swan  
> Pen = female swan  
> Plumage = bird feathers collectively  
> Bill = beak  
> Cygnet = baby swan  
> Mute swans are not actually mute – just less vocal than other swan species  
> Different swan breeds can mate though it's usually unlikely  
> Swans twine necks to show affection – (hmm, I wonder why that is necessary to know?)

The pond is beautiful with the sun beaming down and reflecting off its rippling surface. It glitters as though covered with thousands of tiny diamonds, glowing so brightly that Will has to shield his eyes with his wings. The water, clear and cool and blue, is framed by lush trees. Ripe berry bushes that waft sweet scents and white daisies scattered to and fro in the grass near the pond's edge, add a beautiful final touch to an otherwise magical place. Will’s heart hammers with excitement at the thought of setting his webbed feet in such a revered place, bathing in what could only be described as heavenly waters. It had definitely been worth all the travelling **.**

Will takes a cautious step forward and then another. He is just about to dip one webbed foot in when he's suddenly thrown backwards by a flurry of white.

“Hey!” Will squawks indignantly - well, at least as indignantly as he can in the quiet way of the mute swan - and rightens himself. He smooths down his feathers with a shake of his body. “Not cool, cob. Not cool at all.”

“S-stop! It’s not worth it!” a rather plump, male, trumpeter swan begs him with frightful desperation.

“What?” Will casts a forlorn look at the tempting waters. “Why the hell not?”

The trumpeter swan’s beak widens with open terror. “He’ll get you!”

“Who?”

The swan's head darts left and right before he dares lower his voice to a shaking murmur, “Hannibal.”

“Look….?” Will trails off.

“Franklyn.”

“Look, _Franklyn._ I’ve travelled very far to get here. I’m not about to be scared away by some pesky human or vicious raccoon.”

“Hannibal’s not a normal predator.” Franklyn's chest rises and falls at an alarmingly fast rate, his entire body positively quaking with fear. “Hannibal’s a swan!”

Will pauses, before fixing ludicrous eyes onto Franklyn. “A swan?!”

“Yes.”

Will lets out a loud snort of disbelief. “I’m not going to let some territorial asshole keep me from swimming in the pond of my dreams! I’m not scared of a little pecking and wing battering.”

Will creeps closer to the pond and unfurls his wings.

“H-he’s murdered fifteen of us already!” Franklyn stammers out from beside him. “Does it for the fun of it, the others say.”

Will hesitates. He’s never heard of a swan killing so many of their own kind before.

“Fifteen?” Will’s voice pitches higher, uncertainty clear.

“Uh, huh.” Franklyn nods his head enthusiastically, long neck jerking all over the place in a rather terrifying manner.

“For fun?”

“Strutted around afterwards too. It was like he was proud of himself, _”_ Franklyn hushes his voice to a scandalized whisper. “It’s wrong, that’s what it is! It’s not what swans _do_.”

“Did they…?” Will hesitates, wracking his mind for possible reasons. “Initiate conflict? Perhaps threaten his mate?”

“Hannibal doesn’t have a mate. All the pens are too afraid to go near him.”

A delicious shiver of fear runs through Will. “So, everyone’s scared of this big, bad swan?”

Franklyn nods again. Now that Will thinks about it, the pond is eerily quiet. No creature dares breech its surface.

Will squints, eyes scanning over the pond. “I don’t see any murderous swans out there.”

“Oh, he’s there,” Franklyn chokes out. “He’s always there, just waiting. Always _waiting_.”

 

\----:----

 

Will tries to stay clear of the pond after that but his dreams are haunted by the serene body of water. He longs to bathe in its beautiful depths more than he has ever longed for anything in his life. Will starts spending his days nestled on the nearby bank of grass, watching the waters day in and day out. His body aching, his heart desiring and his mind festering. He torments himself with thoughts of what the cooling droplets would feel like against his soft feathers.

On his third miserable day, Will sees a small bobbing object on the water.

 _It’s him!_ Will thinks. _It’s Hannibal!_

Will stumbles to his webbed feet, tripping as he attempts to ready himself for a hasty retreat. The tension in his neck loosens when he notices that it's only an ordinary duck. His heart sinks in…disappointment? _No, that can’t be right._

Suddenly, a black blur of feathers moves from the opposite bank in a graceful, flying arch. Its wings barely make a sound and the creature lands without a splash on the water, gliding ominously towards its unsuspecting prey. Will has never seen nor heard such a silent swan before and he knows with a certainty that surprises him that this is the infamous Hannibal.

Will’s breath catches as he watches, feeling a strange mixture of dread and anticipation. Without warning, Hannibal attacks. He darts forward, body slamming with force into the helpless duck. A terrified quack echoes before the feathered body disappears entirely under the weight of the swan. Hannibal hardly jostles at the duck’s flailing attempts at escape. He sits atop the victim until the thrashing weakens and eventually stops. The black swan then slips away, looking completely calm and composed. The duck’s drowned body does not grace the water's surface again. Instead, it is pulled under by those deceptively innocent looking waters.

Hannibal stills for a moment and his neck abruptly pivots towards his spectator. Will’s throat dries at the sight of a lithe body that is filled with unimaginable strength. Hannibal is covered in feathers as dark as the night sky, his plumage shimmering where droplets of water have gathered like stars. His eyes are a deep blood red like the poisonous Yew berries Will has seen but never tasted for obvious reasons. Hannibal is impressively large for a black swan. He had towered over his previous victim and he would almost match Will in height if they ever came close enough.

It takes Will a couple more painful moments before he realizes that those cold, intelligent eyes are pinned questionably to his own. Will stiffens, sensing danger and retreats in a whirlwind of feathers and flapping wings.

Hannibal stares, faintly amused as the new swan makes a clumsy retreat. He finds himself curious about this cob whose face is filled with not only terror and disgust but also a grudging admiration. It’s hidden under layers upon layers of fear but it’s still there. Hannibal quite likes the look of the cob’s white plumage. The colour of purity and innocence. He can’t wait to taint it, fill the dowry softness with clotted blood and make his beloved pond run red.

 

\----:----

 

Will jostles himself awake. He’s in the middle of a pond, not just any pond though, _the_ pond _._ Oh shit! He’s been sleep waddling again. Will's unconscious body must have taken him to the place he’s been dying to wet his feathers in. It’s still night and the full moon glows luminescent above Will like some magical otherworldly thing. The water feels heavenly against his body and is just as clean and refreshingly cool as he imagined it would be. It’s beautiful and it pains Will to force his wings to open but he knows that he has to leave right now, before - Will suddenly stiffens. It’s quiet. _Too quiet._ Will’s feathers ruffle as he becomes unsettled _._

“Hello, Hannibal.” Will doesn't need to turn around to know that the blood thirsty swan is directly behind him.

“Ah, I see that you are already as well acquainted with my name as I am with yours. I gather you are also aware of my reputation then.” Hannibal begins to circle him, creating a miniature whirl pool as he sizes up Will's weak spots. “Yet here you are. What a brave little cob you are.”

“There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity,” Will murmurs, feeling his hackles begin to rise. He squares his wings, preparing for the inevitable fight.

“You are correct,” Hannibal agrees as he scans him over with obvious appreciation. “Intelligent, courageous and beautiful. You really are exquisite. It’s rather a shame.”

“A shame?” Will blurts out before he can stop himself. 

“That you will have to be disposed of. It must be done, you see, for no creature is allowed in this pond but me,” Hannibal speaks with a strange cadence and unique accent, his voice has an almost lyrical quality to it. It's hypnotic, almost like he's trying to lure Will into a false sense of calm.

“Why?”

“Surely you understand. I have seen you marveling at my pond's beauty from afar over the past week. Those lesser creatures contaminate my pond with their droppings and their destructive behaviour, bringing dirt and grass to mar its beautiful surface. They destroy the ecosystem with their overeating of the aquatic plants underneath.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical considering you also eat plants from the pond to survive,” Will scorns the black swan.

“Not necessarily,” Hannibal replies with a terrifying smile curled around the edges of his beak.

Will shudders with disgust. “Insects, really? Those taste terrible and the crunching sound they make when chewed is just awful. Fish is nice, I guess, if you’re like me. _”_

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal purrs, tone positively dripping with malice _._ “How naive you are. Have you not been heeding the warnings?”

Will tenses.

“My tastes are rather refined. I rather enjoy soft, lean meat,” Hannibal looms over him, neck bent so his beaked face can draw closer until they are only a mere inch apart. “Prey that I hunt _myself.”_

“Oh, God,” Will chokes out with open terror because swans _don't do that._ They don'teat meat or other swans or attack birds just for the fun of it. Franklyn was right, Hannibal _is_ dangerous.

“I dare say that you look rather delectable, little cob.”

And then he attacks. Hannibal is so fast that Will barely has time to react before he’s being pitched head first underwater. He vigorously shakes his body in an attempt to free himself but Hannibal has a firm grip on his back with his webbed feet. As time passes, Will’s lungs begin to burn as he is denied precious oxygen. Will darts forward blindly with his beak open, finding it difficult to see. He finally has contact with the fragile stem of one of Hannibal’s webbed feet and clamps down _hard._ Hannibal recoils in pain which allows Will the precious seconds he needs to dislodge himself. He breaks the surface of the water, a spluttering mess.

Will’s heart is beating so loud and fast that he can hear it thudding in his head. He flutters his wings open, about to flee when he is slammed into the side by Hannibal. He attempts to smack his wing into the older cob’s body but Hannibal ducks out of the way and pecks Will viciously in the face. Will is temporarily blinded by the pain and shakes his head rapidly to clear the haze in his mind. A sharp stab is directed to his underbelly while he is distracted. Will hisses in anger and flaps hard at the black swan. He succeeds in hitting Hannibal on his flank but it does little to ward off his increasingly brutal attacks. Will retaliates with his own jabs but his blunt, curved beak does little if any damage. Meanwhile, Will’s own body stings where Hannibal’s pecks are dealt. _This pain isn’t normal_. _Hannibal must have somehow sharpened his bill_. Will has the sudden ominous image of the older cob, running his beak against a nearby rock in an attempt to toughen it up and give it a harsher edge. While Will is distracted, Hannibal disappears.

Will lets out a honk of confusion as he spins around to confront his attacker. _Nothing_. Will whips his neck back and forth and still sees nothing. Hannibal's probably hiding somewhere or perhaps he has bled into the night itself. Will doesn’t let his guard down, knowing Hannibal is probably waiting in the shadows and logically accessing how tired and injured Will has become before planning his final move.

Will knows that the best way to survive this ordeal is to surprise Hannibal into revealing his location. So he does something that he’s never done before but is certain will shock the black swan into returning or reacting at the very least.

Will dips his head underwater and then breaks the surface, preening his body in a display.

 _Hell, this is the only time I’ve ever courted another swan and I really hope it’s the last,_ Will grumbles to himself. _I must look bloody ridiculous._

Yet Will repeats the courting action over and over and _over_ again.

Hannibal, who has hidden behind a half submerged rock, is very intrigued by Will’s actions. He has heard of swan courtship rituals before but has never had the opportunity to witness one so closely. How Will angles his neck, the way the water clings to his feathers and the soft noises he is making is enchanting and Hannibal finds himself gravitating closer without conscious thought. A noise escapes his beak, one he has never made before and Will is on him. Will pins the black swan down using all of his body weight and holds Hannibal’s beautiful neck between his beak _. It would be so easy to crush._

Hannibal freezes as he realizes that he has been beaten. He ought to feel bitter and furious about it but all he can muster is admiration and devotion towards this being who has manipulated him into such a weak position. Will dunks the black swan underwater and Hannibal does not struggle, serene to die in the grip of this fallen angel.

Will becomes uneasy and flutters his wings. It feels wrong for it to be this simple. Will realizes, with growing concern, that he rather liked the struggle of their fight. It made him feel alive _._ Without Hannibal, who will defend the pond's purity? He imagines Franklyn wobbling into the water with mud covered feet and shudders. Even more importantly than all that, without Hannibal who else can Will fight and feel challenged by? Will doesn't want to give up the rush, the adrenaline of fighting a swan that matches him in ability. He makes a split-second decision then, one he's certain he will later regret, and takes off soaring across the pond. Will doesn't look back, only prays that Hannibal is still alive.

The black swan slowly surfaces and takes a soft gulp of air. His maroon eyes follow the path of a white blur of feathers. He smiles and its brilliant, all jagged edges and sinister intentions. Hannibal has finally found a swan who challenges him both intellectually and physically. A vicious little thing coated in feathers of snow. His long-awaited mate.

 

\----:----

 

Will’s entire body aches when he wakes. Now that he's in the bright light of the morning sun, the mute swan can see the clotted blood that mars his beautiful feathers. Even worse, without the adrenaline high to numb the pain, every part of his body throbs when he waddles. Evidently, Hannibal did quite a number on him. It’s almost enough to make Will regret letting the violent swan live. _Almost._ Will moves around stiffly, face tight with agony.

A nearby human couple point to him and whisper pitifully. Will hates the rather rude appendages angled in his direction. It makes him want to break them with a snap of his bill. _Good God, what has Hannibal done to him?_ Gone were the days of serene thoughts and calm drifting in the still waters of the pond. Now, Will thirsted for blood and vicious scrambling.

A pair of insufferable humans approach him later that day while he is resting peacefully in the green, luscious grass. Their hands are covered in a strange white material that crinkles ominously as they near. They coo and soothe him softly with their strange and distorted language. Will is having none of that and darts away from them, hissing furiously. When they dare bring their fingers within touching distance of the mute swan, he jabs at them with his beak.

“Ouch!” the male one exclaims, hurriedly popping the injured finger into his mouth. “The bloody thing pecked me!”

“Calm down, Frederick,” his companion scorns. “The poor swan's been through quite the ordeal. Of course he’s feeling frightened and is acting aggressively.”  

They grab Will together. The female human holds his beak tightly between her right hand while the male human bands his arms around Will’s wings so he can’t flap at them. Will stills, trembling as he is successfully subdued. Hannibal observes all this from his pond and glides towards them in his usual threatening manner.

“Back off you pest!” the female sneers at the sight of the black swan. “You’ve done enough damage as it is!”

Hannibal doesn’t understand the foreign language that they speak but he can decipher the angry tone of their voices and he can see Will suffering. The wounds Hannibal had inflicted are clear and on display before him, the blood a stark contrast to the cob’s light feathers. Usually, Hannibal would feel proud and preen of his achievement of besting another of his kind. Today, he feels ashamed and disgusted with himself. Hannibal knows the humans mean well. That they will take Will far away and heal him before redepositing him back at the pond again. He has seen them preform such feats countless times so he forces himself to stay put, watching with sorrowful eyes as they disappear with his mate in the back of their giant, hunkering metal contraption.

 

\----:----

 

Will refuses to eat. Don’t get him wrong, he has tried but the once tangy greens now taste bland and tasteless in his mouth. The humans have offered him a range of aquatic vegetation but he’s not interested. The swan is slowly starving himself, his body becoming thinner and more frail. It’s all Hannibal’s fault, really. Always is nowadays. Will had noticed the blood gluing his feathers together after their little encounter and had attempted to clean it off with his bill. Somehow, the substance had entered his throat and it had been rich and exotic and tasted absolutely divine. Horrified, Will had forced himself to leave it but he couldn’t forget the incredible taste. His heart longed for it as much as it once longed for the pond.

The humans quickly decide against any attempt at force feeding him when Will nearly breaks the arm of the first rescuer who tries to stuff chunks of green down his throat. They think that perhaps his depression stems from homesickness and loneliness so they allow him to become situated with the other cobs and pens who are also in recovery. It’s a mistake from the start. Will glares at any swan who dares approach him and the corner he has assigned himself. Those who are not deterred by his warning hisses are quickly beat into submission with a flap of his wings. One particularly irritating pen attempts to saddle up to him against his express interests, most likely marveled by the intriguing and unique colour of his blue-green eyes. When his pecks do not deter her, he breaks both her webbed feet so she can no longer aimlessly follow him around. Her pained cries are so lovely that Will can’t himself and nibbles at the flesh on her flank curiously.

The revolted animal rescuers grab him roughly and throw him into the back of their truck shortly after that little display of cannibalism. They are fed up with him. They return Will to the pond later that very day, his overall stay barely spanning a week. Will’s wounds have been cleaned and treated, although they have yet to fully heal. Normally, the animal rescuers would keep an injured swan over the span of a couple weeks, observing their slow recovery. If the swan is particularly friendly, they might offer a slightly longer stay. Will, on the other hand, has proven himself more trouble than he's worth. They warily deposit him back in Baltimore Park, waiting until the very last minute before they open the cage. They then promptly rush off in a flurry of smoke fumes. Not one of them dares look back.

Will waddles down the familiar trodden paths until he finally finds the pond. His eyes search hopefully for those impressive black feathers. He needs to know what’s the matter with him. Needs to know why he craves something so wrong.

“Oh, my,” a beautiful, lithe pen exclaims from beside him. “You’re back.”

“Um…” Will tilts his head to the side in confusion. “Do I know you?”

“No, no, of course not.” She shakes her head and looks at him coyly. “I was there the night that you faced off against Hannibal. That was mighty brave of you.”

“Erm, thanks.” Will shuffles uncomfortably, wanting so badly to escape this awkward conversation. If it were any other swan on any other day, Will would have scared her off with his sarcasm and dry wit or a warning hiss. Right now though he’s in desperate need of information about Hannibal and he has a feeling that the nicer he is, the better chance he has of getting it.

“You must be very strong to be able to overthrow another cob like that.” She puffs out her chest to increase her appeal.

“Perhaps.” Will immediately tenses. He knows where this is heading and he doesn’t like it one bit. Strong and aggressive cobs for female swans equal a protective and very attractive mate.

Will tries for a friendly tone, “Speaking of other cobs, have you seen Hannibal around?”

“I’m Alana, by the way.” She waddles closer to him, clearly not taking the hint as she brushes his side with her wings and ignores his previous question. Will tampers down the urge to shake her off. 

“What’s your name?”

“Will,” he grits out. 

“I like your accent, Will. It’s very beautiful. Where are you from exactly?”

Will replies with the barest hint of sarcasm, “Not here, _obviously.”_

“Oh?” The pen is leaning closer again, brushing her neck against his own. Will startles, moving backwards sharply. She’s acting far too intimately towards him, especially for a stranger.

“Stay away,” Will hisses in warning, abandoning his manners. She obviously wasn’t going to be of much help to him.

“Why?”

“I happen to agree with Will. That is quite enough.” Will’s heart jumps at the familiar accented voice. He swings his neck around and sure enough there stands Hannibal in all his terrifying glory. The swan’s back is ram-rod straight, his dark feathers are ruffled aggressively and his maroon eyes are narrowed into threatening slits. Hannibal has abandoned his sacred pond in favour of the grassy land that surrounds it and Will. The gesture is surprisingly sweet and it makes Will feel things that he really shouldn’t.

“H-Hannibal,” Alana quivers with fear, hurrying to hide behind Will’s frame. “Protect me, Will!”

The mute swan snorts at her words. Alana, seeming to realize the danger she is in and her “hero’s” apparent uselessness, retreats hastily.

The two male swans pay her no mind, staring intently at one another.

“You have returned, little cob.”

“I have.” Will straightens up, instantly on the defensive. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Hannibal bows his long, elegant neck in peace. “Not at all. Might I enquire as to why?”

“You know why.”

“Do I now?”

“You’ve done something to me.” Will is restless with energy and begins waddling to and fro in a straight line. “I can’t function like a normal swan anymore. I want things I really shouldn’t, crave what is forbidden.”

Hannibal’s eyes glitter at the confession. He can smell the blood of a pen on Will’s beak and is so overcome with adoration that if it weren’t for his immense self-control, he would have instantly crowded up against Will to better smell him and demand to know every explicit detail of the attack.   

“I shouldn’t be aggressive but I _am_. I shouldn’t ache for the taste of blood and the sound of suffering but I _do_. You’ve altered my very nature.”

There is silence and Will pauses in his pacing, craning his neck to peek a cautious eye in Hannibal’s direction. The black swan has disappeared again. _Of course he has_. Suddenly, there is a light pressure on the back of his neck, the faintest brush of feathers and Will gasps.

“Words cannot begin to describe how long I have been impatiently awaiting your arrival, Will,” Hannibal speaks in a low voice.

The mute swan freezes, stunned speechless. Hannibal takes this opportunity to twine their necks together and softly lowers his beak. Will ducks his head, anticipating the sharp bite of a peck but is rewarded with only a light pressure.  

“Um, Hannibal,” Will murmurs apprehensively, heart rabbiting with panic and... other things.

“Yes, Will?”  Hannibal’s voice is gentle and oh so reverent.

“You do realize that what you’re doing isn’t hurting me, right?”

Hannibal suppresses his amusement at the sheer incredulity that is coating Will's words and replies evenly, “I am well aware.”

“It’s actually a form of affection.”

“Yes.”

“Not just friendly affection either but like really intimate affection.”

“Really?” Hannibal’s tone is light and teasing.

“Yeah, it is.” Will pauses for a moment, feeling embarrassed. “It’s erm actually the behaviour of mates.”

“Regardless of popular opinion, I am actually quite educated in matters of courtship. I do understand how these actions would be perceived by others of our kind.”

“Oh, so you understand then? Good. If you could just untwine our necks then, that would be great.” Will jumps at the sudden feeling of warmth pressing against his side. “Hey, God damn it! I didn’t say move closer! Are you even listening to me?!”

“Of course, Will. Every word that leaves that lovely bill of yours is of infinite value to me.”

“Then actually listen to me and stop rubbing your beak all over mine!” Will all but explodes. “Other swans are seriously going to quack about this.”

Hannibal purrs. “Good, then they will all realize you are mine and insufferable pens will no longer approach you with romantic intentions.”

“Yours?” Will splutters, struggling to untangle himself. “You can’t be serious right now!”

“I am, Will. I wish to take you as my mate.”

Will unfolds his wings fretfully but the dark cob quickly climbs on top of his wings to prevent what would surely injure the both of them.

“Shh,” Hannibal coos softly as though he’s talking to a newly born cygnet. “It’s alright, mylimasis.”

“But we _can’t,”_ Will moans, throat tightening with worry when he realizes how right and reassuring the weight of Hannibal feels atop of him. “A pair bond is between a cob and a pen.”

“Are we not already challenging the norms with our aggression and our appetite for our own kind? We are not like the others, Will. We are better,” Hannibal’s voice is soft and smooth as he rubs his beak against Will again.

Will’s eyes drift shut at the sensation. “Oh, you are positively fiendish. Always tempting me so cruelly.”

Hannibal senses victory on the horizon and continues to hone in on his point relentlessly. “Could an ordinary pen ever truly understand you like me, Will? Once the other swans hear of your refined palette they will surely abandon you. I am all you will have. An eternity of loneliness awaits you if you continue to live the mundane life of an ordinary swan.”

“And if I choose you? What do I get?”

“If you choose the path of blood and violence, you will receive everything you desire,” the black swan lowers his voice until it is deep and rich in pitch. “Including me.”

And it’s all so deliciously enticing that Will can’t help but breathe out. “Yes, yes. I want that.”

Hannibal’s eyes burn dangerously at the words, his gaze full of promise. “I am afraid that you will have to be more specific.”

“You. I choose you.”

 

\----:----

 

No creature dares set their bodies anywhere near the pond in Baltimore Park for the next nine years. Not while Will and Hannibal are around. When the pair are not lovingly gazing at one another across the watery surface or preening flirtily in the cooling waters, they are brutal in their patrol of the perimeters. They maim and kill any creature that comes remotely close to the water’s edge. Even at night as they lay side by side on the grassy bank, one of the pair always has their eyes open and trained on the pond’s surface. Their body relaxed as they patiently wait for their next meal with a protective wing encasing the other. Always waiting for the fool who risks the wrath of the murderous mates _._

**Author's Note:**

> Will is actually not that young. I'd say around ten years old. Mute swans usually live around 20 years (so Will's middle aged?) while black swans live around 15 in the wild. So Hannibal saying "little cob" isn't an observation or anything, it starts off as a patronizing insult and then sort of becomes a fond endearment. 
> 
> Swans have also been known to live up to 40 years in captivity so I've boosted Hannibal and Will's life expectancy a bit at the end. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this whole thing! I hope you didn't find it too weird :).


End file.
